


Big Houses

by shannonymous



Series: New Again [6]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Like thats it, M/M, Polyamory, Steve goes to church, Threesome - M/M/M, Tony Being Tony, and makes his boyfriends come with him, church, dont touch bucky's stuff, i wrote this bc I wanted Tony to bitch about church, thats all - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-03
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-04-07 13:16:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4264623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannonymous/pseuds/shannonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At that, a laugh bubbles from Tony’s chest unexpectedly. He’s still giggling to himself when he manages out, “Church isn’t really my scene, Cap.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Big Houses

Tony’s been hunched over, soldering wires for hours before he realizes what time it is. The clock above him reads a large 6:27 AM, red and angry. Like Steve is going to be when he figures out Tony has spent all night in the lab again.

“Fuck, he’s gonna kill me.” Tony curses, scrambling up from his work station and abandoning his project with no second thoughts. On his way to their shared floor, he tries to come up with excuses that are better than “I wanted to make something.”

Isn’t he just a piece of fucking work?  

He’s halfway to the bed when he hears Steve’s voice from the bathroom: “Nice of you to show up, Tony.”

“Yeah, yknow, I was doing something for Nat. I must have lost track of time.” _She’s the first one who’d love to blow your cover, Stark._

“Oh?” Steve steps out of the bathroom, but he isn’t dressed for a run. Instead, he’s got a tie hanging around his neck, tucked loosely under the collar of his blue button-up. It’s a very _tight_ button up, open at the top. Tony’s tired brain goes blank, but he makes a note to never tell Steve Rogers they make clothes in his size.

When he realizes Steve’s wearing his fond _I’m waiting for you to give me some bullshit excuse_ face that he reserves solely for the two men with whom he shares a bed, Tony gives a weak smile and a weaker, “Yes?”

The blond nods slowly, mocking. “Right. So we lie to each other now?”

Tony rolls his eyes.  “It isn’t _that_ far from the truth,” he reasons. “If I’m gonna lie to you, it’ll be something that counts.”

Steve makes a soft ‘tsk’ing sound, and he’s so good at looking disappointed that Tony _might_ feel a little ashamed.

“Come to mass with me. I’ll forget about this whole thing, and you won’t have to…” he trails off, uncomfortable with discussing their sex life and church in the same sentence. “You won’t have to repent later.”

At that, a laugh bubbles from Tony’s chest unexpectedly. He’s still giggling to himself when he manages out, “Church isn’t really my scene, Cap.” His apologetic face is betrayed by the mirth in his grin.

 It grates on the blond’s nerves, to be laughed at by Tony Stark again.

“I know what your scene is, Tony. Maybe you should reconsider,” Steve hints, and though his expression reads nonchalant, his words are anything but. The other’s head suddenly cants to the side in insulted disbelief, brows raised, but Steve can see the hurt underneath. He grimaces.

“Hey, just because I’m not religious doesn’t make me a shitty person.” Tony sucks his teeth and crosses his arms over his chest. It used to look defensive, but they’ve learned his body better than that. “There’s such thing as secular morality, Cap. In case you haven’t stumbled across that on ‘the Google,’ it means I can tell what’s right and wrong without a book of fairytales telling me—“

Steve tenses. “Tony—“

“No, fuck you,” he shoves his finger in Steve’s face, accusing. “ You always have to make it seem like you’re better than everyone else, and I’m sick of you acting like the big man on campus because you get strapped up in that star-spangled spandex—“

“Damn it, Tony! Would you just—”

“What? Roll over and let you take charge like usual?” Tony scoffs.  “No fucking thank you, I get enough of that as it is out there. Aren’t we supposed to be all sharing and caring—”

“All right!” Steve snaps, exasperated. “All right, fine! Don’t flip your wig about it.”

He immediately regrets this.

Tony’s face quickly cracks in a grin. Victorious, and a little amused. “Did you just-?”

Steve waves him off, turning away. His fingers spider clumsily over the buttons of his shirt now that his hands are shaking.  “Look, I was just inviting you… I didn’t mean anything by it. You don’t gotta come with me, all right? I’ve been going alone this whole time—”

The other groans. “Please don’t use the Catholic guilt, Steve, I can’t take it seriously.”

“Tony,” Steve sighs. “I’m not trying—“ he starts, but he’s cut off by the lump of Bucky Barnes still tangled up in the sheets.

“Oh my _God_.” The soldier groans into his pillow, pushing himself up on his elbow. He looks between the two of them, bleary-eyed with sleep. “I’ve been trying to ignore you for twenty minutes.” Scrubbing a hand over his face, he squints at them and settles back against the headboard. “Would you please just shut the fuck up and go with him, Tony? Christ almighty, would it kill ya to go one hour without being a sinner?”

“See?” Steve grins smugly at their boyfriend.

“I’ll suck your dick if I can stay home,” the genius barters, making his way to the bed. He wants to put his mouth all over the place where metal meets flesh. Steve rolls his eyes and turns back to the mirror.

“Yeah okay,” Bucky mutters and Tony brightens, because he loves to win. “We’re definitely going to church. Get dressed, Stark. You need Jesus.”

*

The three men find themselves a pew relatively close to the altar, Steve being the only one to genuflect before finding a seat. Tony flashes an amused face at Bucky, who rolls his eyes and nudges the man along, much like his own mother had done decades ago. They sit, Tony’s hands reaching for the envelope rack in front of them, obviously desperate for something to busy himself with.

The other brunette turns in his seat, watching the people file in. They’re all in various stages of dress— from Sunday Best to Wednesday Worst. He had never thought he’d see men wearing just their undershirts and a pair of jeans to church, but times have changed.

Flexing a glove-covered hand, Bucky glances back at the priest. He feels worn here among all these people, but this is familiar. This sets him at ease. The reverb in this great hall resonates like a long-lost friend, and he lets the hum fill his chest with something akin to homesickness. Sit, stand, kneel. He knows this drill by heart.

Sparing a glance at the two men beside him, Bucky closes his eyes for a brief moment and folds his hands in his lap. _Thank you._

 

The door opens halfway through mass, but the drone of organs and Latin drown out the sound. Only a few in the congregation turn their heads instinctively, two of which are Bucky and Steve. Tony is too busy attempting to look as disrespectful as possible, head craned back to look at the scene painted on the ceiling above them. Steve nudges his arm, and when the other looks, he pointedly turns his attention back to the front. Tony rolls his eyes, but shifts in resignation and follows suit.

Bucky, however, keeps his eyes on the newcomer. The man is middle-aged, his suit looking uncomfortable on his frame, like he doesn’t often wear it. Their gazes meet, even as the man slides into a pew without dipping a knee or crossing himself.

It’s when they’re all seated that the door opens again, and Bucky can’t believe this many people would show up late. He remembers the adamancy of religion, and wonders _just_ how much has changed in these past decades. When he turns his head, the man sitting at the back catches his eye, as if he’d already been staring.

From the corner of his eye, he watches the new man (dressed only in slacks and a black button-up) take a seat in the row of pews of the suited man. Another files in after him. Not one of them is taking a seat in the Catholic fashion, and Bucky’s surroundings instinctively go dim. It’s all distraction.

Then again, the men staring at the back of Steve’s head would be hard to be miss. He grits his teeth.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Bucky hisses out under his breath. The older woman in front of them goes rigid, turning incredulously in her pew. Steve’s own surprised face snaps to him, looking both contrite and disappointed.

Tony is staring ahead with faux interest, but his face, split with a tell-tale grin, is too amused for the sermon.

Voice laden with disdain, Steve whispers a heavy, “Bucky, _really_?”  

The other shakes his head, reaching for the pistol holstered against his back. He only gets as far as, “We don’t have time for that—“ Before the shooting starts, and then there isn’t time for anything.

People are screaming, panicked; few drop down under the pews, covering their heads and praying to the God that surely must be listening at a time like this. Others are sprinting for the exits, caught up in the tangle of mass desperation.

The gunshots are amplified in the cathedral, and this is the sound that the asset knows best. This, he can do.

Steve moves after Bucky, hurdling over the pews towards the four men left standing. It takes no time to aim and bring two of them down, their bodies twisting with the force of the asset’s bullets ripping through them. They hit the polished floor with the wet, dull smack of death.  

In that time, Steve, unarmed and busy getting shot at, grabs the only thing at hand, one of the heavy tomes in the back of each pew — he slings the thick book as hard as he can at the man closest to him, knocking the gun off its mark. The adrenaline presses him harder. He follows through, foot squared to strike the man’s chest, catching the man off guard and sending him flying back into a bench hard enough to crack his head.

When Steve turns to look for Tony, Bucky realizes he’s lost sight of the last assailant. He whips around, searching the loft above them for signs of movement. People are running by them, and neither soldier has noticed the gunman standing at the altar.

In his ill-fitting suit, the man adjusts his stance and makes his shot count.

“ _Steve_!” Tony shouts, and it sounds like a cry. When the blond spins at the desperation in Tony’s voice, his path brings him straight into the bullet’s path; first he feels the impact, throwing his balance off. Then his heart stutters, pauses. Faintly, he can hear Bucky’s shout of _“Fuck!”_  Hand flying to his shoulder, Steve drops to his knees, pain painting his whole world a sharp red.

He grits his teeth against the waves of nausea that still afflict him when hurt, but then Tony’s at his side and he leans heavily against the other with relief.

The man turns his back to the assailant, making eye contact with Bucky as he shields Steve from danger. “I gotcha, Cap,” he hears Tony coax softly, trying to convince himself more than the blond. “Just— keep pressure on it. It isn’t that bad, just your shoulder—”

Enraged, full of the fear and hate he’s always tried to avoid, Bucky rushes towards the gunman and throws his weight against him, slamming him to the ground. He’s almost forgotten about the gun in his hand until he pistol-whips the other man before pinning him still, knees planted on each arm.

The man writhes in his ill-fitting suit, letting out a cry of pain when a metal fist shatters his front teeth. His head hits the floor with a resounding _crack_ , and then two more.

Panting, Bucky catches sight of his hands covered in blood on the floor of a _church_ — the hate bleeds from him, and the tension leaves his body.

“You’re not fuckin’ worth it,” he spits venomously. The man groans and Bucky bounces his head off the polished floor one more time. He gets close, low, knee buried in the man’s solar plexus.

 “If you’da done your job right, I can, one-hundred percent, guarantee that I would’ve enjoyed what was comin’ to you. When are you punks ever gonna learn, huh? You can’t fuck with us.” He grins nastily. “Now stay the _fuck_ there. I don’t want to see you move, cause I’m gonna have to hand you your ass right here in front of God again, Jack, and none of us want that. ”

When he stands, he considers laying a kick into the man’s ribs, but he’d rather not scuff his dress shoes; Tony paid a pretty penny for them to have their Sunday Best. Instead, he holsters his pistol and makes his way back to the two men kneeling in the aisle.

He finds his place with them. “How’s he doin’?”

“Bleeding everywhere, but he’ll be fine,” answers Tony. He smiles thinly, his face drawn and wane. Bucky doesn’t think he’ll let Steve go anywhere alone for a while.

He returns the smile, fingers brushing lightly against the back of Steve’s neck. “You good, doll?”

Steve grits out a soft “No,” and then, “You brought a gun to church,” is his lament.  “If our mothers could see you now.”

It takes a moment, but they both chuckle at the man whose main concern is offending the big man upstairs with a bullet deep in his shoulder. Bucky shakes his head. “You tossed a Bible, Stevie,” he reminds the other, brushing stray locks of hair from Steve’s forehead.

The blond winces.  “It was a hymnal, I would _never_ —“

“You’re fuckin’ nuts,” Buck interjects with a laugh, cupping Steve’s face. He kisses that stupid half-grin right there on the floor of the church and Tony leans against a pew with relief.

He heaves a sigh and then a dry laugh. “I might be an asshole,” he starts, and Steve shoots him a look, even as he’s bleeding quite profusely, obviously having better things to worry about than Tony’s mouth. “But I’d never shoot up a church. Christ,” another dirty look, “That’s just wrong.”

“Don’t think they care about how it looks. I can’t believe people would go so far just to target…” He shifts uncomfortably, like voicing it out loud will make it real in the eyes of God, as if He wouldn’t know. “People like us.”

The brunettes share a look at that.

“They were here for _you_ ,” Bucky remembers. He’d caught them staring at Steve with blatant intent. “They didn’t even notice Tony. Or me.”

“Oh,” Steve says lamely, gesturing at them. “I thought. You know, I thought it’d be about…”

Tony’s the first to understand and he laughs. “Steve, Steve, Steve. Not everything is about what’s in my pants. Or who’s getting into them. They may think we’re fucked up—sorry, screwed up; what, is that not better? –Babe, think about it. You show up here every Sunday. Captain America in the same place, at the same time, unarmed, with a false sense of security? You’re practically baiting the bad guys.”

S.H.I.E.L.D. enters the church right then, and Bucky isn’t sure he’s ever been so relieved to see them. Agents spread and scatter among the patrons left, assisting them to their feet and outside. When two of them come to help Steve up, Tony and Bucky step back to allow them space, but not far.

The assailants left alive are being cuffed, while their associates are carried out in body bags. Bucky winks at the man in a bloodied suit, grinning, and follows his boyfriends out of the church. Reporters clamor towards them, but the agents steer the men towards the vehicles parked by the side.

“I think I’ll stay home next Sunday,” Steve says as they settle him in the back of an ambulance. He’s pale, but his eyes are fever-bright; Tony’s seen it before, and hopes the blood loss isn’t getting to him.

“As if,” the man scoffs, keeping his tone light. “That was the most interesting service I’ve ever been to. Let’s do it every week.”

 _It could have been worse_ , Tony thinks as Steve rolls his eyes and offers a pained smile. He reaches for Bucky’s hand, lacing their fingers together tightly.

The other glances over in surprise, but he relaxes at the fond, somewhat wistful expression that Tony’s giving Steve. He then tugs their linked hands onto his lap, shifting close enough to lay his head on Tony’s shoulder.

“He’s fine. It’s okay,” Bucky whispers into his hair, pressing a kiss to the spot.

He wonders if S.H.I.E.L.D. will be able to keep both Tony Stark and Bucky Barnes from Steve’s hospital room. Secretly, he hopes that they try.

**Author's Note:**

> love me, please


End file.
